True Romance
by xNotGingerx
Summary: While out looking for Sophia, Daryl finds Alabama battered and beat in a motel, and brings her back to the farm. As she recovers, she becomes a part of the "family", and grow close to Daryl. RATED M FOR DISTRESSING THINGS EARLY IN THE STORY.
1. Heartbreak Motel

So, it seems like not a lot of people are reading/into my revised version of _Keep Calm & Carry On._ I'm a little stalled on it, and thinking about going back and revising it- again. In the meantime, I have this story, which I just sort of wrote while I was internetless a few months back. I honestly have no idea where it's going, but if you guys really like it, I'll keep it up.

Fans of Tarantino will definitely be able to see inspiration and homages to _True Romance_ (best movie ever, check it out if you already haven't). This is also a way darker story, so I'm giving a TRIGGER WARNING. There's violence, abuse, mention of rape, and pain. If you're uncomfortable with that, please don't forage ahead.

I don't own _The Walking Dead _or _True Romance. _The only character I own is my OC.

* * *

"Hey." The former deputy turned as Daryl approached, crossbow slung over his shoulder. He had the map Maggie had found in one hand and the keys to his bike in the other.

"You goin' somewhere?" Rick asked in a friendly tone, trying not to rile the man up. Daryl nodded, squinting in the sunlight as he lifted the map.

"Doc's daughter mentioned somethin' 'bout a motel off the highway, five minutes up from where we broke down. Figured I'd take the bike, check it out. Sophia might be holed up there."

"That's a bit of a stretch." Rick said, rubbing his neck.

He shrugged. "Better than combin' the woods, takin' apart every walker we find to make sure she ain't been lunch."

Rick nodded, conceding his point. "I'll come along. We can take the car."

"Bike's faster." Daryl said, already walking past the man and heading for the motorcycle. "An' I work better alone." Before Rick could stop him, the bike was roaring down the dirt drive, taking the crossbow-wielding redneck with it.

* * *

_The bed creaked as one of them sat on it. Another kicked an overturned chair out the way and picked up a fallen pack of smokes. The water from the broken tub was creeping beyond the bathroom and soaking into the hideous pink shag carpet._

_Glass crunched under his boots as he stopped by her prone form. He was a dark, blurry outline through slitted eyes._

_"Hey, Tony, I think we broke her." He joked to one of the other ones, chuckling. The room filled with laughter. He toed her bare stomach with his boot, jostling her body. "You still alive there, sweetheart?"_

_His soles ground glass into the polyester as he crouched down, grabbing her chin in his hand. He lifted her head a few inches off the floor and shook it. "Wake-y, wake-y, babycakes."_

_She managed to open her eyes a little further, making out dark hair and a tan face. His grin as he manhandled her. She gathered the last of her energy and spat in his face, blood and spit hitting him right between the eyes._

_His grip on her was gone, her head falling back against the floor with a dull thud. He cursed as he stood, wiping his face clean. His boot connected with her ribs, kicking her with enough force to turn her on her side. She moaned, glass scraping her skin as her cheek rubbed against the carpet. A hand was in her hair, dragging her up, and then another hand, gripping her throat. His face was in front of her again, angry and mean, but she just stared back with dead eyes. Darkness crept into the corners of her already ruined vision, and she smiled at him as the pressure on her throat increased. _

_He dropped her, her body crumpling at his feet like a toy without any stuffing. He spit on her form, and then his heavy footsteps could be heard walking away from her. The door to the room opened._

_"Want me to finish her off, Dave?" _

_"Fuck her." He replied. "Leave her for the biters."_

_More footsteps as they all left. She could see their legs as they walked away, leaving the door to the room wide open. She heard slamming, doors being shut, and then the rumble of cars. She heard the familiar purr of her Cadillac, and groaned in protest. Not her baby. _

_Tires, rolling over gravel, and then the sound of cars began to fade into the distance. Alone, in the silence, her eyes slid shut, and she gave up the last of her energy._

_Fuck it. Good day to die._

* * *

Daryl found the motel easy enough and pulled off the road, parking the bike by the main office. The one-story, U-shaped building was a throwback to the sixties, ugly and falling apart. The whole place looked untouched. Hell, he'd doubted anybody'd been stayin' in the place _before_ the world went to shit. 

He checked the office first. There was a vending machine that had been smashed open, and half the shit in it was gone. The box with the room keys was open, and the keys to the honeymoon suit were missing. Puttin' two and two together, Daryl worked his way quickly and quietly down the line of closed doors to the suite, occasionally calling Sophia's name softly. He still hadn't seen a geek, but kept his finger on the trigger of his bow. Best case scenario, he'd find the little girl curled up in a big bed surrounded by junk food wrappers. Worst case scenario… there were a lot of those.

The door to the honeymoon suite was wide open, and he heard water running inside. He didn't hear movement, but was still careful as he stepped inside, bow up and in front of him.

There was broken glass everywhere, probably from the destroyed mirror and smashed TV. The blankets on the bed were messed up, and a chair was overturned. After looking around, he realized the running water sound was coming from the bathroom, where the faucet on the shower had been broken off. The tiles were shattered, and the mirror was cracked. An empty bottle of shampoo lay discarded on the ground. Daryl circled back into the main part of the room, his eyes falling to the small figure lying in the middle of the room on their side.

Too big to be Sophia, but definitely a she. She looked like someone had just tossed her aside and forgot about her, the way she was crumpled. Her arms were out in front of her, one wrist bent at an odd angle, and bloody. Her whole body was bloody. Bloody, bruised, cut, and broken. She wasn't wearing pants or anything, and he guessed it was her jeans lying a few feet away, ripped apart.

The bottoms of her feet had cuts on them, probably from the glass. Her long legs were riddled with bruises and shallow cuts. Her hips had handprint-shaped bruises on them, more than one set. Her plain black boy short underwear had a big hole in the side, showing even more purpled skin. Her shirt was rucked up, and had a rip right down the middle. It didn't completely cover her breasts, which were big and also bruised, more finger- and handprints. She had marks on her wrists, looked like someone had tied her up, but there wasn't any rope anywhere. Her face was hidden by matted, chin-length hair, which looked like it was red, but it could've just been all the blood. Her back was a shredded mess, her shirt sticking to it.

Daryl set his bow on the bed and unsheathed his knife before crouching next to her and rolling her over, ready to slam the blade home if she went for him. But she just fell to her back with a little thud, her head lolling a little and her face coming into view.

"_Jesus_." Daryl flinched as he took in her battered face, disgusted by what was done to her. Her lips were cracked and bleeding, her eyes swollen almost completely shut. Her nose looked like it might be broken, and she had a huge gash on her forehead, disappearing into her hair. Somebody'd slammed her face against something. His bet was the bathroom mirror. There were tear-streaks through the blood, snot coming out of her crooked nose, and spit and something else near her mouth. Fuck.

She made this quiet little sound, like she was choking. She was breathing, but barely. She was alive, but probably wouldn't be for very long. She was… pretty, underneath the blood and abuse. Pretty and innocent. She'd been through hell. She didn't deserve what she'd got.

He stood, sticking his knife back in its holster, and began looking for her clothes. The jeans on the floor were too ruined to wear, and he didn't find a pack or anything anywhere. He grabbed the blanket off the bed, shouldering his bow, and wrapped it around her. He lifted her up in his arms and hurried out of the room and back down to the bike.

* * *

_She felt heavy. Like she was being pulled by something on the opposite side of the Earth. She always thought you felt weightless when you died. Isn't that what people said? They lied. Or she wasn't dead._

_She thought she heard something, a heavy, steady echo. Like footsteps. She was beginning to think she wasn't dead. A biter? They shuffled. A person? Them? No, it was just the one sound. One person. An angel? Maybe she _was _dead. Did angels walk? Thought they flew. She opened her eyes as best she could, trying to see. _

_A tall, blurry shape, with its back to her. Maybe. Maybe she was seeing things. Or making it all up. But then her eyes focused a little more, and she saw something white on its back. Wings. They were wings. It _was_ an angel. She shut her eyes with relief. It would be over soon._

_She heard rustling, and felt the person kneel by her side. Heard the sound of them breathing, steady and even. Did angels need to breathe? Nobody was ever clear on that. Were they technically alive? She felt a hand on her shoulder, gently rolling her onto her back. There was the thought of pain at the movement, but it wasn't there. She wasn't numb; pain was _all _she felt. Made pinpointing it hard._

"Jesus."

_Jesus? Were angels allowed to say that? Was that like cursing for them? Maybe it wasn't an angel after all. Where was the light and warmth? Weren't angels surrounded by light and warmth? So she wasn't dead. Unless she was in Hell, and it was demon. A demon disguised as an angel. Did demons say Jesus when they wanted to curse? Was that the thing in Hell? She hoped she wasn't in Hell. She'd been good, mostly. It wasn't her fault. She was innocent. But it didn't smell like brimstone. And there wasn't any fire. So, not Hell? Not dead. And it was a person. A person had found her. A man. And he was… covering her with something. A sheet? She wasn't dead. She wanted to tell him, but all that came out was a choking sound as she tried to breathe better. Something was sitting on her lungs. _

_The person was lifting her up now, and she felt him move. He was taking her away. To bury her? She wasn't dead. She didn't want to be buried. Her fingers curled stiffly over the wings on his back. Someone had to tell her angel that she couldn't go._

_She wasn't dead._


	2. How's the World Treating You?

**So, I'm glad people seemed intrigued by this story, and like it. I got a few good reviews, and that makes me smile =)**

**Here's chapter two, which I hope everybody likes just as well. Again, I don't own anything that isn't mine.**

* * *

It was awkward, riding on the bike with the girl. Daryl had her in front of him to keep her from falling off, and she was pressed against his chest. Couple of times, he thought he heard her moan or whimper, but over the sound of the bike he couldn't be sure. He gunned it, flying down the road to get back to the farm.

"Just hold on there, girl. We got a doc'll fix you up nice and pretty."

* * *

_Loud. Something was roaring and it was loud. There was a humming, too, coursing through her whole body. It shouldn't have, but it felt… good. Wind whipped at her face, and she was pressed against something. The angel? No, wait, the person? So he was taking her away. To help her? If he was going to bury her, wouldn't he have done it back at the motel?_

"Just hold on there, girl. We got a doc'll fix you up nice and pretty."

_He called her girl. She liked the way he called her girl. His voice was comforting, rough and heavy. Any other time, it'd make her toes curl. She always was a sucker for a southern boy. Doctor? Who was 'we'? He was getting her help? She tried to open her eyes, get a look at him, but they didn't want to cooperate. Stupid things._

* * *

Daryl turned down the drive to the Greene farm, pushing the bike as much as he could. He pulled right up to the farmhouse and cut the engine, barely remembering to put the kickstand down before he climbed off and lifted the girl back into his arms.

"Doc!" He took the steps two at a time, trying not to jostle her too much. "Doc, get yer table ready!" He was attracting attention, but fuck 'em.

Lori was sitting in the rocking chair on the porch when he came around the corner, and she jumped to her feet at the bundle in his arms.

"Get the door." He ordered.

"Oh my God." She complied, following him inside. Hershel must've heard him, because the man met him in the hall. He glanced at the girl and pointed to the other room.

"In there. Put her on the table." He followed Daryl to the dining room, where Otis' widow and the older Greene girl- Maggie?- were already clearing the table to make room. Daryl set her down as gently as he could, and stepped back to give them room. The screen door banged open, and Rick appeared, Shane and Lori almost on top of him and Glenn close behind. It banged some more and Dale joined them with Andrea and Carol.

"What happened?" Rick asked- ordered- as Hershel unwrapped the blanket and began looking her over.

"Found 'er." He replied, eyes on the doc and his patient.

"Who is she?" Shane demanded, as Glenn asked, "Is she okay?"

Daryl just shrugged. Otis' widow was wiping the blood off wherever she could, the rag already pink. The girl moaned a little, and then made a choking sound. Hershel's hands moved from her wrist to her side. As he pushed down gently on her side, she let out a strangled cry and writhed in pain.

"Couple of broken ribs. Can't really do anything for those but let them heal. Feels like one might be pressing against her lung." He lifted her left arm and ran his hand down it, stopping at her wrist. She whimpered as he touched it "Fractured wrist." Her legs were free of severe injuries. He lifted her to look at her back. "Looks like there might be glass in there. Have to get that out before we can stitch those up."

He sighed at the state of her face. "Her jaw's not broken, but that nose is. There's glass in here," he gestured to the open wounds on one side of her face. "That cut on her head worries me. She has a few other small ones, and there could be internal damage. She's looks like she's lost some blood. I honestly don't know." He stood and looked to his daughter. "Let's start with the wrist."

"Daryl." Rick drew his attention away from the girl on the table. "Can we talk outside?"

"I'm gonna need him." Hershel said, not looking up as he probed at her side again, or offering any further explanation. He glanced over at the group, huddled together in the doorway. "I'm also gonna need some space." He added firmly.

Rick nodded, his jaw set, and ushered everyone out of the house.

* * *

"Who the hell is she?" Shane demanded in a low voice once they were outside.

"Did you see her face?" Andrea asked, her own pale. "It was completely beaten in."

"Her clothes..." Lori said quietly, casting Rick a worried look. "Rick, you don't think…"

Rick held up a hand, silencing everyone. "Look," He said calmly, "We can't jump to any conclusions. We don't know what happened. Let's just… let's wait for Hershel to finish and see what Daryl has to say."

* * *

_Touching her. Someone was touching her, poking and prodding at her. The doctor? Something warm touched her skin, dragging down it and leaving it damp. Were they cleaning her up? She heard _his_ voice, and then someone else's, kind and older, listing injuries. Was he examining her? Were they _her_ injuries?_

_Fire. White hot pain starting at her side and racing across her stomach. Someone held her in place, keeping her from moving. She didn't like that. She wanted them to let go. Let go! Why were they holding her down? _

_More fire. So much of it. God, it hurt. It hurt so bad. But she felt the weight on her lung leave, gone with the fire. The fire burned it away. _

_Someone was lifting her, very carefully, while someone else wrapped something around her middle. It was soft, kind of scratchy. They set her back down, the rough, calloused hands leaving her skin. Why? She liked those hands. They were comforting; gentle. Were they _his_ hands? Was he still there, or had he left? She wanted him to come back if he'd left. She opened her mouth to try and talk, but she couldn't form words. Her throat was sore, abused, and her mouth was dry. She felt her lips tear, and whimpered. _

_Fire again. In her arm this time. Were they burning her? Why? She tried to wiggle away, but someone stopped her. They were wrapping more of the soft, scratchy stuff on her wrist. The pain dulled, and they put her wrist back down. Someone was wiping something wet on her face, and it felt good. They dabbed at her forehead, and then she felt a stinging there. She shook her head, trying to make it go away, and someone put their hands on her, keeping her head still. No! Nononono! Not again! She thrashed, and someone yelled. Different hands came, rough ones, and settled loosely on her face._

"Calm down, girl. We ain't gonna hurt ya." _Oh. It was _him. _He _was _still here. She calmed. There was a pinch in her forehead, uncomfortable, but bearable. The hands stayed, and she wanted to smile. He said they wouldn't hurt her. She believed him._

_The pinching disappeared, and so did his hands. Fingers probed at her head some more, and there was more pinching. It went away quickly, and then his hands were on her again, gently turning her onto her back. She whimpered a little at the pain in her middle, but there was nothing she could do. Someone sighed, and then she felt something tearing from her. She cried. It hurt. What were they doing?_

_There was the cool, wet sensation again, followed by the stinging. She wiggled, and his hands settled lightly on her shoulders. The pinching came back for a while, only to go away and come back. It went away and came back more times. She didn't know how many. It hurt, and she whimpered, but the hands stayed on her shoulders. Finally, when the pinching went away for good, they left. She was lifted up, and she knew it was _him._ His arms felt familiar; safe. She sunk into them, sighing. She felt him carry her, and place her in something soft._

"There's not much more I can do for her. I don't know if she has any internal damage. We'll just have to see if she wakes up."

Wake up?

I thought I was awake.

I just want to sleep. Just for a little while.

Just a little longer…

* * *

Daryl stepped out on the porch, where everyone waited anxiously to hear about the girl. Carol had stayed behind when they all filed out, and was now sitting with the girl in the room Carl'd occupied when he'd been laid up. She'd promised to get him if there was any change.

"Think you can explain what's going on now?" Rick asked him, hands on his hips.

"I'd still like to know who the hell she is and why you brought her back here!" Shane snapped, running a hand over his scalp. "The hell's the matter with you."

"What do you mean?" Andrea but in, staring at the former cop in disbelief. "She's hurt. Daryl probably saved her life."

"I'm just saying," Shane replied, in a calmer tone, "We don't know anything about this girl. Who she is, if she's got any people, why she's looking the way she is…"

"Oh, for God's sake, even you can't try and say she deserved what happened to her." Lori snapped, although the look on her face said she believed he'd try.

And he did. "For all we know, it was a fight. Maybe she started it. Maybe it was self-defense."

"And the handprints on her, I'm sure those were just self-defense, too." Andrea exclaimed sarcastically. "And what, taking off her pants, that's what? A strategic maneuver? God, you are too much." She made a noise of disgust and shook her head, turning away from him.

"Now, H-hold on. Hold on." Rick said, holding up a hand and stopping the argument. He looked at Daryl, who stood with arms crossed over his chest, a glare aimed right at Shane as he picked at his thumbnail with his teeth. If looks could kill, Shane'd be walker bait. "Why don't you tell us what happened?"

The screen door squeaked open and Maggie stepped outside, joining Glenn on the porch. Daryl cleared his throat and uncrossed his arms. "I found her in the honeymoon suite in that motel I went to look over. Keys were missin' from the office, vendin' machine was smashed. Figured it might be Sophia." He shifted his weight, shaking his head. "Room was trashed. Glass everywhere, overturned chair. Hell, the tub was leakin' water everywhere. Someone busted it. Tiles, too. And she was layin' in the middle of the room, all beat up like that. Nobody else 'round. Not even a walker. No pack or weapon or anythin', either. No cars." He shrugged. "She was alive. Couldn't just leave her there."

"You did the right thing, son." Dale said encouragingly from the rocking chair, and Daryl gave a single nod. Rick sighed and ran a hand over his face, glancing out over the field.

"Alright, look," he said, "She's just a girl. Can't be much older than twenty, if she's even that. She's clearly been through a lot, and she needs time to mend. We'll see what we can get out of her when- if- she wakes up." He looked to Maggie. "How is she?"

"Sleeping." The brunette replied simply, leaning against the porch rail. She shook her head. "She's pretty banged up. Dad ain't sure if there's anything wrong internally. We'll have to wait and see. She's skinny, too. Probably hasn't been eating right."

"Alright." Rick said, nodding. "Let's just… let's go about our business, see how she goes. Thank you." He told Maggie, who hesitated before going back inside.

"She'll need clothes, if she wakes. I got a pair of jeans or two, might fit her, and some boots, but she's a little bit… bigger than I am, in the chest." She looked to Lori. "Think you or Carol might have something that could work?"

Lori shook her head, unsure. "I'd have to look."

"Here." Daryl pulled off his vest and took off the red button up underneath it, tossing it to Maggie. "It ain't clean, but it's big 'nough. No sleeves, though."

Maggie caught the shirt and thanked him before disappearing behind the door. Shane raised his brows but kept his trap shut, and everyone slowly filtered off the porch and back down to camp. Rick stayed, and Daryl looked to him.

"Carol's sittin' with her now. I'ma take a shift in a few hours. Keep an eye on her."

Rick nodded, looking at his boots. "It's a good thing you did, Daryl, bringing her back here. No one's saying it isn't."

Daryl gave him a funny look, and Rick looked around awkwardly. "I'm just saying. Good call." He clapped a hand on the redneck's back before jogging down the steps and making his way back to their camp, under the trees. Daryl shook his head- fucking people- and leaned against the porch, thumbnail back between his teeth and eyes on the door.

* * *

_She was warm. Resting on something soft. A cloud? No, she wasn't dead. Remember. Someone had saved her. Or was that a dream? Did you dream when you died?_

_Her fingers curled around something soft, and she sighed. Something creaked nearby. A hand settled on her forehead._

"You just sleep as long as you need to, honey. Wake up when you're ready."

_The voice was female. Kind. But not familiar. Where was _he_? The man who'd saved her? Had she dreamed him? No. No, he had been there. She'd felt his hands, holding her. She remembered him. _

_God, she was so confused. Nothing made sense. Was anything real?_

_She shifted, trying to move, and whimpered. Pain. Ow. Ow, so much pain. Why was there pain? She shifted again, and the pain came back, but it didn't hurt as bad. Getting used to it? _

_She opened her eyes. At least, she thought she did. Her vision was narrow, mostly dark blobs and blurry shapes. Where was she? Why weren't her eyes cooperating? She opened her mouth, but it hurt. Her lips hurt, her throat, her jaw… _

_A hand touched her shoulder, and she flinched, shifting away from it even though it hurt to. Whose hand was that? Why were they touching her? Oh god, she'd been dreaming. The man hadn't been there, he hadn't saved her. What was it? A biter? Was she going to be eaten? Or worse, had they come back after all? Had they never really left? Had she made it all up; a way to ignore what was happening?_

_The hand brushed her shoulder again and she let out a strangled cry through her abused throat, scrambling away from it. She rolled, and then she was falling. She yelped as she hit something hard, pain shooting through her entire body. Someone was calling out, calling out a name. Her name? No, it was a man's name. Daryl. Daryl? Who was Daryl? She began crawling away, trying to escape before they came. She heard footsteps, heavy and hurried. Would they hurt her more? Would they do things to her again? She didn't deserve it; she was good. She'd never done anything to deserve it… _

_The footsteps stopped before her, and she could make out a pair of boots. She recoiled, remembering his boots and what he did to her, but these boots were different. Dustier, and more weathered. As close as she was, she could see the age on them. _

"C'mon, girl. Let's get you back in bed. Ain't nobody gonna hurt ya here." _Oh. Oh, it was _him._ There he was. His arms slid underneath her, lifting her up again, like he had before, and she didn't fight him. He set her back down on the soft thing, and she sunk into it. He said no one would hurt her. She believed him. Hadn't he said that before? Why hadn't she remembered that? _

"I got some broth in her earlier, but it wasn't much." There was the woman's voice again, soft. "It doesn't look like anything's getting infected, though. She doesn't have a fever. I think she just needs the sleep. She isn't ready to face the world yet."

"Thanks." _He spoke the word like he hated using it. Oh. They were talking about her. Broth? She thought her stomach rumbled. Maybe it was something else. Food. She missed food. Infection? Fever? Was she sick? No, the woman had said she didn't have those things. Sleep?_

_Sleep. She did want to sleep. Just a little bit more, and then she'd wake up..._


End file.
